My Prince (18 page)

That second option was slightly terrifying, but better than the first. Definitely better than the first.

“Now, if you’ve finished having a hissy fit,” George said, chucking Alex under the chin, “I’m going to go piss, then get back on the road so we don’t end up being later than we already are.”

“Okay,” Alex said softly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” George leaned in and kissed him again.

“I think you’ve kissed me more in public in the past five minutes than you ever have before,” Alex said as George pressed the button on the car keys to lock the doors, then headed toward the low service building.

“I figured the whole country is about to see me doing that by this time tomorrow,” he said easily. “I might as well give them something to look at.”

“Don’t you care?” Alex asked.

George laughed harshly. “Of course I do.”

“I get so mad,” Alex said, smiling to himself when George held the door to let him through first. He was such a gentleman. “They’ve done this before, and I go mental. They have absolutely no right to report on my private life. And I’m entitled to one. You don’t see them doing this to the British royals.”

“Why do they do it to you, then?”

“I suppose that’s not fair,” Alex sighed. “They do. It just feels like they have better control over the media here. Which makes sense really.”

He stopped talking as they ducked into the men’s room, not wanting this conversation to be overheard.

Ten minutes later they were back on the road again, Alex feeling slightly calmer. George had bought him a peppermint tea from Starbucks, then complained that it smelled like toothpaste. George didn’t need to know that Alex was using it to settle his stomach. He didn’t remember ever feeling like meeting someone’s family was this important.

Chapter Ten

“A
RE
YOU
ready?” George asked, watching Alex’s face for any sign of distress as he pulled into a parking space and turned the engine off. After his little episode earlier, Alex seemed to have calmed down, and he nodded at George and smiled.

“Yep. Wait—what’s your nan’s last name?”

“Huh?”

“Her name,” he said, poking George in the ribs. “So I know what to call her.”

“Oh. Maguire. She’s my dad’s mum. Nancy Maguire.”

He didn’t think of his nan in those terms. She was just his nan.

“Got it.”

George gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then got out of the car. For the first time in a long time he tried to look at the retirement complex through the eyes of an outsider. It looked a little tired, maybe a little dated. Since it was a nice day, there were people milling around in the gardens outside, one lady working on her hands and knees in one of the small vegetable plots.

“It looks nice here,” Alex said as they walked up to the front door.

“Yeah,” George agreed. “It is. Uh, I need to sign you in because you’re not family.”

“Okay.”

“What name should I use?”

“How about… Alex Maguire?”

“Jesus,” George muttered.

Alex laughed, apparently delighted at this reaction. “I’m messing with you. Use Alex Chamberlain. That’s my mother’s maiden name. I use it from time to time.”

“Okay, great.” He held the door open for Alex, then waved at the warden. “Hi, Sheila. This is my friend Alex. I need to sign him in.”

“No problem,” Sheila said, pointing to the book. “Here to see your nan?”

“Yeah,” George said, scrawling his name and Alex’s in the visitor’s book. “Thanks, Sheila. See you later.”

“How long has your nan lived here?” Alex asked as they made their way upstairs.

“About five years now. I helped her move before I left uni. She’s moved to a new flat since then; a new one came up, and it has a balcony that looks out over the garden at the back, so she took it. The people here helped her move that time, though.”

Alex grabbed George’s arm and squeezed it. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” George grouched. He was. “This is it.”

He knocked lightly, heard the shuffle inside as his nan came to the door.

“George!” she cried as she swung the door open and pulled him inside. “Oh, it’s good to see you.”

“Hi, Nan,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I brought someone to meet you.”

“Hello,” she said while peering over his shoulder at Alex.

“Nan, this is Alex. Alex, this is my nan.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Maguire,” Alex said, offering his hand for her to shake.

“Call me Nan, love. They all do.”

“Nan,” he echoed, smiling.

She knew. George could tell she knew, but she was too polite, for now, to say anything. Instead there was the usual fuss over tea and biscuits, and apologies from George that he hadn’t had time to pick up the usual Turkish delight. Apparently Alex was a better gift than Turkish delight. She
definitely
knew.

“George hasn’t mentioned you before, Alex,” Nan said when they were settled in the living room with cups of tea. She’d got the good cups out, the nice ones that were saved for guests.

“Haven’t you, George?” Alex asked innocently.

“Fuck this,” George said with a laugh. He set his tea down on the little table and grabbed Alex’s hand, threading their fingers together. If Alex was surprised at any of this, he hid it well. “Nan, Alex is my boyfriend. We haven’t been together that long, but I wanted you to meet him.”

“Oh,” Nan said, pretending to be surprised, not pretending to be pleased as punch. “How lovely.”

“There’s something else,” George said. He looked at Alex, desperate for some help. How the fuck was he supposed to explain it all? Alex was much better at this sort of stuff.

“Mrs. Maguire,” Alex said, his voice not sounding posh at all. He sounded nice. “I was born in the Netherlands, that’s where my dad is from. My mum is English, and she moved to Amsterdam when they got married.”

“Okay,” Nan said, looking confused.

“My father is part of the royal family of the Netherlands.”

“You’re related to royalty?” Nan said.

“No… I
am
royalty, Mrs. Maguire.”

“Oh. Oh!”

“I moved to London when I was seven,” Alex continued, and George knew he was more comfortable with this part of the story, where he got to explain it all. “I lived with my grandfather for a while, until he died a few years ago. I go back to Amsterdam fairly regularly, but Britain is my home now.”

“You’re that…,” Nan said, her eyes slightly unfocused, like she was remembering something. “You’re that boy, the one who….”

“Yes,” Alex said with a smile. “That’s me.”

“How on earth did you end up with George?”

George laughed. “Am I not good enough for him, Nan?”

“You know I don’t mean that,” she scolded.

“We just met in a pub,” Alex said easily. “Most people couldn’t pick my uncle out of a lineup, let alone my father, or me. I’ve spent a lot of time out of the public eye. People know of me, but… well, it wasn’t until I connected the dots that you realized who I am. I have a pretty normal life.”

George snorted, and Alex squeezed his hand. A warning. The thought made George smile.

“What do you do?” Nan asked, reaching for a biscuit. “I’m sorry. That’s rude.”

“Not at all,” Alex said. “I’m a student at the moment, at uni in Edinburgh. I’m studying architecture.”

“How lovely. And do you live together?”

“No,” George said quickly. His nan gave him a look, one he recognized well from his childhood. He decided to behave. “There’s something else, Nan.”

“I’m not sure I can take much more at my age,” she said, happily dunking her biscuit in her tea. “At least I can be fairly sure neither of you is about to tell me you’re pregnant.”

Alex laughed then, the bright sound that George already knew he loved.

“Nan,” George said softly. “Someone took photos of us. They’re going to print them in the newspaper.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We didn’t… didn’t consent to the pictures. They were taken by paparazzi. Alex tried to get the paper to stop the story, but apparently they’re going to take the opportunity to do a whole piece reminding people who he is. They might say rude things about me.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because I’m not rich,” George said with a sort of grim humor. “I didn’t go to a posh private school, and my parents aren’t lords or barons or counts or whatever.”

“I’m sure they won’t, dear.”

“It’s a possibility,” Alex said. George leaned back on the sofa, and Alex put his hand on George’s knee. “I can assure you it makes absolutely no odds to me, but the British media can be less accepting.”

Nan nodded, thinking. “Which newspaper?”

“
The Sun
,” George said.

She grimaced. “I don’t read that rubbish.”

“I know you don’t, Nan. I just wanted you to hear it from me. Not by gossip around the home or from the paper.”

“Well, I think it’s wonderful. No one can convince me otherwise.”

“Thanks, Nan,” George said.

T
HEY
STAYED
for another half hour, then made their excuses. George knew his mum would likely be awake now after her night shift, and his dad only kept the garage open on Saturday mornings. They closed by lunchtime so he and Maggie could go off to watch United, when they were playing at home, or down the pub.

His mum was, as George had expected, thrilled that he was getting laid. She never was a woman to mince her words, and George reveled in the schadenfreude, watching Alex’s growing embarrassment at his mother’s lack of tact. This was who they were: loud, open, startlingly honest.

“Is Maggie at the pub?” George asked as he gathered up their mugs—more damn tea, he needed a pint—and took them to the dishwasher. His mum had tried to nudge them through to the living room, but he knew how things worked in this house. The living room was for guests. The kitchen was for family.

They stayed in the kitchen.

“I kicked the lot of them out,” Mum said. “They’re down the Working Men’s.”

George grinned. “What did you bribe him with?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, then rolled her eyes. “I gave him twenty quid for taking the kids with him.”

“What, all of them?”

“Yeah.”

“You left all the kids with Maggie?”

“Caroline is there too,” she said, an edge of defensiveness in her voice. “And your dad was going to meet them once he was done at the garage. He’ll be fine.”

George laughed. “I thought the girls were at ballet or something.”

“That’s Saturday
mornings
,” his mum said with a sigh. She tucked a lock of her dark hair, now streaked with fine strands of red, behind her ear. The sun was coming in through the window now and catching her just right.

“Do they do a lot of activities, then?” Alex asked. He sat at the kitchen table, sprawled in his own patch of sunlight, like a cat.

“More than you could ever think of, love,” Mum said. “I don’t mind too much. On Tuesdays I start work at two in the afternoon, so they all do after-school clubs until either Paul or Maggie finishes at the garage to go get them. And then the younger kids do ballet or gymnastics down at the leisure center on Saturday. It gives me a chance to catch up on my sleep.”

“You work too much, Mum,” George grumbled.

“I’m fine, love. Don’t worry about me. They should be pleased I’m not working tomorrow, or I’d be out there burning every copy of the bloody
Sun
I could get my hands on.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Maguire,” Alex said for the hundredth time, pulling himself up to a seated position.

“I told you before, call me Bev. And it’s not your fault, Alex. These things happen. I just don’t like that we can’t do anything to stop it.”

“Hopefully we won’t have any more problems going forward. I’ll get the injunction in place, and it’ll be fine.”

He looked too worried for George’s liking, so he crossed the kitchen and pushed Alex’s hair back, kissing his exposed forehead.

“Come on, I want to get down the pub before they all get too pissed,” he said. “You wanna come, Mum?”

“I’ll go down and get them later,” she said fondly. “You boys go on. And don’t be strangers, okay? You’re welcome anytime.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

He pulled her into a hard hug, holding her for longer than usual before letting her go. Out of everyone, he was most worried about his mum’s reaction to the news about the story in the press. She had the biggest heart of anyone he knew, and George had a feeling she would be more upset than anyone else if the article was rude about him or his family. Maguires had thick skin, he knew that, and his mum was no exception. She was his
mum
, though, and the thought of not being able to defend him against this new foe would hurt her.

George grinned when his mum ignored Alex’s offered handshake and pulled him into a hug too.

“Paul and I,” she said, while her arms were still wrapped around Alex, “we take care of ours. You’re ours too, now, okay? Our door will always be open for you. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex said softly.

She cuffed him around the ear.

“Bev,” he corrected with a laugh. “It was so nice to meet you. Thanks for the tea.”

“Anytime, love.”

She stood at the door to wave them off, and George pretended not to notice when Alex stared pointedly out of the side window of the car as he drove through the familiar streets of his home city. Manchester was a funny beast. She still bore the scars of her Industrial Revolution past, the very layout of the city revealing paths built from docks to factories to warehouses. In this corner of the North-West, house prices were cheap, and families stayed in one area for generations. George’s had, at least. His mum had dug up information that traced her own heritage back to immigrant dock workers.

There were, of course, the posh areas where the footballers lived, the gated communities where the rich could live in peace without having to interact with the proletariat. George knew of these areas but had never bothered to go there. He had no reason to.